The Malfoy Letters
by pretentious-git
Summary: Harry's handwriting is quite awful, and instead of writing diaries and journals to improve, he figured letters would be both beneficial as well as entertaining. He wants to find someone who'll genuinely read his letters. However, when he chooses Draco Malfoy to be the receiver of his anonymous letters, neither can tell for sure how this will end up exactly.


**Chapter 1 - Pen Pals**

In actuality, solitude was never a thing Draco sought after extensively, or often. Despite the fact that many of the Hogwart's school body thought that the blond man was an icy billboard that screamed 'DO NOT TOUCH,' Draco itched for company. And it wasn't for the sake of companionship either. Or maybe it was. He wasn't quite sure himself, just as long as he always had someone in the room to snap at whenever he felt the urge, or boss around whenever he felt lazy. Occasionally, he did want to be left alone. But that was normally when he was so enraged that the other person would honestly be quite in danger by being in the same room as him. Yet even then, it was good to have someone in his face, telling him to cool down lest he break all the objects that the room held.

At this very moment, the poor slytherin that was stuck entertaining Draco's demanding presence was Blaise, who was spread out on the cold floor of the common room, a magazine in his hands. Instead of moving pictures, though, the magazine was still and held photos of men in football jerseys and team scores from across the country. Draco himself was seated on the plush green couch in front of him, one leg thrown over the other as he lounged about lazily, crossing his arms. His head was tilted back so that it was staring up at the dark ceiling of the room, green candles bobbing around and casting a glow on everything its light touched. Other students milled about the room, but it was well after hours and there were only 3 others, two studying and one murmuring quietly to their parents through the fireplace. Draco and Blaise were still up merely because they didn't feel tired at all. But no one questioned the seventh years, so they were left to their own devices.

"What time is it?" asked Blaise from the floor, having tossed the magazine off to the side when he finished the articles that interested him.

Draco stirred at the question, having spaced out and thinking absently about their upcoming potions exam. Raising his wand, he lazily cast a tempus charm and watched the numbers pop into life before him. "A little past 2 am." He muttered in reply, lowering his arm when he realized that the simple movement had taken quite a lot of energy.

"Seriously?" came the voice of disbelief. "I'm going to kill Goyle." Came the heated reply.

Earlier that day in herbology, Professor Sprout had been teaching them about the _Vigilibit_ plant, having a hands on activity in one of the green houses. The plant was a common one that was used in many medical potions, including pepper-up and other things. It revitalized the senses and helped people stay up and energized. However, when used it large doses, it kept people up for an insane amount of time. After smashing the plant's leaves into powder, Draco and Blaise were going to go up and get their samples approved by Sprout, when Goyle, the idiot that he was, turned around that same second, with his _and_ Crabbe's bowls in hand. The boulder of a boy smashing into Blaise, all three bowls hitting each other and falling to the ground. Powder flew up like a mini bomb, and Draco, who had been unsuspecting, turned to look just in time for a massive puff of powder exploding in his face. The other two boys had enough time to think fast and held their breath before they inhaled any more of it, but Draco had opened his mouth and took a deep, hacking cough which resulted in powder coating his tongue and mouth. Needless to say, Pompfrey was extremely peeved at the outcome, muttering that 'Reckless boys like them don't need to stay awake any longer than they usually are.' Draco wanted to point out something like Potter being up almost every night to go off gallivanting with house elves or something, but held his tongue. Knowing Pompfrey, she'd probably blame him then secretly slip him an extra dose of pepper-up so that on top of everything else, he'd be awake for a week straight. That would've been miserable.

So now, Draco and Blaise were spending their time in the common room where they could talk freely, whereas Goyle was in his own dorm, doing Merlin knows what.

"I'm hungry." Draco said, bored out of his mind. They had ran out of things to do by midnight that didn't necessarily wake up the rest of the slytherin body, and conversation topics were out of the question. They both knew that anything said past midnight could be held against a person, tired or not.

"I've got some chips left over from dinner?" Blaise suggested, heaving himself up into sitting position and stretching.

"No," replied Draco, sitting up straight himself and looking at his friend that looked as if he desperately wanted to be tired. "Let's go to the kitchens." He said after a moment's thought. A spark of adventure lit in his eyes and he gave Blaise a look that spoke of his eagerness to get out of the common room.

But the other boy simply quirked a brow and gave Draco a withering look. "The kitchens." He replied bluntly, and Draco frowned. "You want to go to the kitchens?"

"What's so wrong with wanting to sneak foo-"

"For one, you're not bloody Potter." Blaise pointed out, and the blond scowled at the name. "They're not going to shower you with food. In fact, you being who you are, they'll probably toss you a rotten piece of bread and tell you to fuck off."

Draco sighed and rubbed his face, knowing that Blaise was right. "Thank you for being such strong support." He grumbled, standing up and stretching his legs. "Well. Either way, I'm getting out of here. I can only be in here doing nothing for so long before I want to tear my hair out." Sending Blaise a look that said 'I expect you to come with me,' Draco began heading towards the door, and inwardly snickered when he heard Blaise mutter obscenities behind him and stand up off the floor, following him.

"What do we tell anyone who catches us why we're out?"

Draco snorted, pushing open the door that led to the common room and stepped out, feeling the cool breeze that ran through the dungeons regularly. It was a nice to change to the warm fire that stifled the inside common room, devoid of human bodies or not. "When did you start worrying about getting caught? We tell them that we were sent by Snape to do something." Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand with the statement, not caring at all.

"Whatever." Came the reply, and the two set off down the corridor, following wherever Draco's feet led them.

Draco had been out numerous times after hours in the school, on various missions. Some serious, some not, like simply going out for the sake of it. Either way, it always left Draco in awe whenever he walked around the school in night time silence. It was dark, but not in an uncomfortable way. Sure, there were some terrifying corridors and doors that looked like they themselves could kill you if you attempted to open them. But generally, it was peaceful and a little bit mystical, which of course was a given due to the fact that magic hung from every crevice. Portraits were sleeping so they stayed still. Still pictures being an unheard of thing in the Wizarding world, it always struck Draco with a feeling of peculiarity, how muggles could go their whole lives in places where photos stayed stock-still. Were they never creeped out by just how… _still_ it all was?

A nudge brought Draco back from his thinking and he turned his head to see Blaise holding his finger up to his lips. The duo had paused by the entrance way of the great hall, doors open, and Blaise was peering in with an amused expression. The blond moved so that he could peer around him, and what he saw also raised his brows up in both surprise and scorn, his arms naturally coming up to fold themselves across his chest.

The four great tables were stretched out across the hall as usual, and the massive room was dark, save for the nighttime stars and light that filtered from the invisible roof and large windows lining the walls. At the very end of the Gryffindor table, closest to the professors' head table and farthest away from the door, sat none other than the Golden Trio themselves, with a tiny feast laid out for them. They looked to be in deep discussion, but one of them would occasionally crack a grin and laugh, which probably meant that they were probably just there for the same reason why Draco and Blaise were: to simply be out. They were wearing the same clothes and robes as they had during the day, which probably meant that they hadn't even bothered to get ready for bed. Draco wondered if they had been out wandering the halls all night.

"I told you," Blaise said, with something that sounded like envy in his voice. "The house elves all but throw food at Potter. In a good way. At you, it'd be in a bad way."

"Pack it in," growled Draco, but didn't deny the envy he himself felt when he looked at the food. It didn't look like leftovers, in fact, they look very specific, as if the three had explicitly stated what they wanted to eat that night. "Will they hex me if I go over there and demand some, you think?" Wondered Draco aloud, genuinely wondering what he could do to get some of the food. It had been awhile since dinner and at two in the morning, he was yearning for something to eat.

Blaise turned his head to stare at his friend incredulously at the suggestion. "You want to just waltz over to Potter and his posse and ask for food?"

"Is it that bad of a suggestion?"

"Draco, I seriously think you need sleep." Said Blaise warily, wondering what on earth could be going on in his friend's head that made him _want_ to go over to Potter. The taller boy was pretty sure that his friend was extremely sleep deprived and was acting completely delusional.

"I would if I could," snapped Draco, before rolling his eyes. "Forget this, I'm bored, and they're oh so conveniently here at the same time of night we are. Merlin probably wants us to go bother them with our presence." The blonde then mentally prepped himself up as he did before any confrontation and began to stride into the Great Hall with the haughtiness that only a Malfoy could uphold at 2:30 in the morning. He could hear Blaise grumbling behind him but the footsteps signified his following.

Their footsteps grew louder the closer they got to the trio, and halfway past the table, the three of them looked up in surprised anxiety, before each of them schooled their features to the expression that always settled on their faces whenever they saw Draco. In fact, the blond had memorized each one to the point that it didn't bother him.

Granger always had a face of disdain, her brows knitted tightly and her posture stiffened, as if Draco emitted an odor that was extremely unpleasant. Which was completely untrue, seeing as all of his cologne was imported from various countries, all at the best prices and brands. The redheaded weasel looked thunderous, as if he wanted to fight. Always. It was like someone had shoved a blast ended skrewt down his mouth and forced him to bite down. The thought in itself was repulsive. Just like him. Potter always had the strangest expression when confronting an arch nemesis. Whereas his friends looked as if they wanted to blast him into next year, the brunet simply looked exasperated, as if he didn't even want to waste his time of day on Draco. The blond wasn't sure whether or not he should take that as a compliment or an insult. But either way, Potter simply stared at him with suspicion in his eyes, as well as a frown on his mouth.

"Well, well, well," drawled Draco, stopped just before them, his hands sliding into his pockets. Blaise stopped behind him and crossed his arms. "If it isn't the power trio, having a midnight snack. What a cute little get together," Draco said snidely, "Is this a tradition?"

As usual, the weasel spoke first, gathering up as much animosity as he could in order to snap back at Draco something rude. "Shove off, Malfoy. What the hell are you doing down here anyways?" Came the heated remark, and Draco pulled on the most hypocritical expression he could.

"I could ask you the same thing, Weasley. Shut your mouth."

Ron bristled heavily at that but turned an indignant shade of red before turning back to his food and shoving a spoonful in his mouth to keep himself from saying anything else to Draco. Potter then turned to look at Draco and the slytherin could see the genuine curiosity alight in the boy's green eyes. "What _are_ you doing here Malfoy?" asked Potter. "Obviously, we're eating. Visibly, you're not."

Hearing Blaise quietly sigh behind him, Draco scowled, knowing that the two of them wanted food, but like hell were they going to straight out ask Potter how they got it, or if they could have some. "Goyle screwed up in Herbology, so we're awake for the next billion hours." He said darkly, unable to restrain himself from flicking his gaze over to the plates of food that were in front of the three of them. They weren't meals, but snacks such as croissants, sandwiches, and different spreads. There was a bowl of soup being shared between them and cups held personal favorite drinks. Potter had seen the look and turned to look at the food in front of him, turning back to Draco with a raised brow. Immediately, Draco brimmed with slight anger. No way was he going to be treated like a charity case.

"Unfortunate," came the slow reply of Potter, making Draco narrow his eyes. "Well. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night." Was the rest of the reply, and Potter promptly turned away from the duo. Granger and Weasley immediately followed in suite and continued to eat, ignoring Draco and Blaise.

Draco stared in shock at the other boy, feeling the heated color of humiliation crawl up the back of his neck while Blaise snickered lightly behind him and snorted out a 'You too, Potter,' civilly. Then there was a hand on his elbow and Blaise began trying to pull Draco away, no doubt to tease him on how 'wonderfully' bothering them with their presence had gone down. Obviously, neither side had seemed like they wanted to fight any time soon, but apparently neither side wanted to be a nuisance to the other either. But…Draco had still been shut down, and the embarrassment of that was not going to leave any time soon. He wanted to give Potter a piece of his mind! Tell him that no one just _ignored_ a Malfoy! Tell him that-

"Can I have some?"

That was when all movement froze. Three heads whipped up to stare at Draco with expressions of extreme shock, and Blaise's hand stopped trying to tug him away, the head connected no doubt giving Draco a look of disbelief. Never had Draco _ever_ asked for anything from Potter, and vice versa. Never ever. And the fact that his voice even had a hint of a pleading tone to it made it all 100 times worse. Apparently, Draco was pretty desperate for food.

Draco knew that if the silence had gone on any longer, his face would have turned undeniably red and he would've spun away and stormed off. But he was saved – ironically – by Potter, who had blinked quickly and looked down at the plate of croissants that was immediately in front of him. "Um. Okay." Came the confused yet civil response. Potter grabbed the plate of croissants and the closest jar of spread, before thrusting it out to the duo. Draco was too busy staring at the food while Blaise was too busy staring at Draco, and it was only Granger's quiet cough and 'Malfoy?' that snapped Draco from his reverie to understand that this food was being _given_ and he was allowed to _take_ it. Quickly, he grabbed the plate and jar away from Potter, handing it over to Blaise instantly, who spluttered and held it quickly. He looked back at Potter who was staring at him as if he grew a double head, and his neck heated up once more.

"What, is it such a crime to ask for food?" He snarled, and watched Potter frown and open his mouth, but he cut in quickly. "Not everyone is beloved by the house elves, Potter. If I walked in there, they'd probably throw rotten bread at me, instead of fresh croissants." He crossed his arms, feeling Blaise shift behind him. He stole his line, but whatever. However, it was a surprise to see Potter snicker at his words and nod.

"You're not wrong. They wouldn't throw the bread at you, though." Said Potter, looking thoughtful. Draco simply stared. "But I wouldn't put it past them to pile all the rotten vegetables and meat in a very fancy basket, tie it up with a ribbon, and hand present it to you." The brunet grinned and his eyes glinted over his glasses, and Draco was trying to register the fact that what they were having was a slightly civil conversation.

"How passive aggressive," snorted Draco, rolling his eyes. He wanted to go on with something witty, but Blaise stepped forward, bobbing his head at the trio.

"Thanks, for this." He said, raising up the platter of croissants. Potter nodded, the Weasley simply grunted, and Granger gave them a weak smile. "We'll be going now." Blaise said primly, before grabbing Draco's elbow once more and dragging him out of the hall. Before they got past the doors, they could hear a very loud 'What the FUCK was that?' from the weasel, followed by slightly confused laughter. Draco wanted to bury himself in the ground.

The two of them didn't say a word as they hurried straight back to their common room, the past five minutes' events still replaying themselves over and over again in their heads. But when they entered the now-empty common room and threw themselves on the couch, Blaise set down the plate and jar between them, and turned to look at Draco, a grin on his face. "I think the image of you asking Potter for something outweighs the fact that you stole my joke."

Draco scowled heavily and snatched a croissant, biting into it viciously and closing his eyes to mentally thank Merlin for the food that satiated his hunger. "Shut up," he muttered, mouthful of food. "I was hungry, it's nearly three in the morning, and I'm tired." He said dismissively, trying to find a way to justify his strange actions. Hell, Draco was fully aware of how ridiculous the situation was as a whole. No doubt that at least two out of the three of the trio would use that moment against Draco in the future, if not telling the entire school that Draco Malfoy had asked Harry Potter of all people for some food.

"You're not tired," retorted Blaise, grabbing a croissant himself. "But you were hungry. I'm going to write it off as starvation, and that it got to your head."

A grunt was his only reply, and the two ate silently, devouring nearly all of the croissants in a few minutes.

Draco thought as he ate, mulling over what happened in the Great Hall. All five of them had been somewhat civil to each other, Draco and Harry especially, seeing as they had a food exchange that didn't involve the passing of poison or the trading of hexes. They even had a tiny conversation, as small as it had been, and in that small moment alone, Draco had seen the civil and slightly amusing side to Harry. His response had been witty and a bit sassy, which in Draco's point of view – not that he'd ever admit this to anyone – it summed up Potter pretty nicely. His thoughts then strayed to the Golden boy's two closest friends and a scowl unknowingly slid on his face as he absently chewed his croissant. Weasley was an idiot, and Granger was smart, but how Potter could find anything remotely interesting in the two of them astounded Draco. There was nothing appealing, literally nothing. They didn't have witty responses. Weasley's were either stupid and Granger's were too smart. Truth be told, they weren't on par with Potter. Not at all. Draco couldn't help but pity the boy slightly for having such awful companions. At least _his_ were tolerable to some level.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, he finished off the last of his croissant and brushed off his hands. Blaise was grabbing the last croissant off the platter and Draco looked over with a curious expression. "How exactly did you become my friend?" He asked bluntly, and watched as surprise flickered across Blaise's face at the random question, but schooled itself back to indifference.

He shrugged, before answering. "I sat down next to you after being sorted and you looked at me, stuck out your hand, introduced yourself, and then congratulated me for making it into Slytherin as if you were already a prefect. Then we both agreed that Pansy looked like a cow and that was that." Blaise bit into his croissant, giving Draco a curious look. "Why?"

"Because I'm wondering what could have possessed Potter to friend the likes of Weasley and Granger, and what on Merlin's earth they had done to catch his attention. I mean, compared to someone like me? Honestly." Draco admitted freely, before blinking and scowling heavily. "Fuck." He had _not_ wanted to say that to anything, much less out loud. Draco swore to merlin he was going to kill Goyle for keeping him up so late.

And for the umpteenth time that night, Blaise stared at Draco with an indescribable expression. Draco looked thoroughly humiliated, brows furrowed and eyes on the ground, and Blaise set down the last of his croissant down, no longer having an appetite. "Now, I know that you're pretty obsessed with Potter-"

"I am _not!_ "

"-and you can only go so long in the day without bringing him up somehow-"

"Blaise, shut UP!"

"But wondering what it would be like to be his friend? Draco, I am seriously debating carting you off to the hospital wing and forcing Pompfrey to check up on you. Again. Maybe the _Virgilibit_ powder had some side effects. Are you feeling-"

"Blaise, Merlin help me I will hex you if you don't shut up." Growled Draco, his face red enough to belong in the Gryffindor common room. "I didn't mean to say that out loud, and it was simply wishful thinking. Stop overreacting."

At that, Blaise settled back in the couch, arms crossed, and face even more conflicted. He was silent for about five seconds, giving Draco what he wanted, before he spoke again. "So not only did you just admit that you at least think about it, but you said _wishful_ thinking. Are you saying you want to drop the animosity between you two? This is new Draco. Where the hell is this coming from?"

Blaise had been looking at him with such a hard expression that Draco felt like he could wither away and die right there and he wouldn't give a damn. "It's not coming from anywhere!" he protested, exasperated. "Isn't it normal for people to wonder what life would be like with different kinds of outcomes and such?

"Well, yes, but it's not normal when you begin wondering how it'd be to be chummy with your neme-"

"I don't want to be _chummy_ with him!"

"Either way Draco, you two hate each other and I don't doubt that it's going to be like that for the next, oh, I don't know, forever?" Blaise spoke bluntly, trying to get his point across.

Draco grumbled and crossed his arms, turning away with a peeved expression. "We could've been friends." He muttered darkly.

"Oh, likely." Scoffed Blaise.

The blond turned to give him an irritated expression, frowning. "No, really. There's a chance that we could have been friends right now. Hell, maybe he would've been sorted into Slytherin, I don't know. But it could have happened."

Blaise sent him a suspiciously wary glance. "What do you mean?"

"I met him before we even met at Hogwarts," Draco admitted, watching the surprise flit across Blaise's face.

"You didn't tell me that. What happened?"

Sighing, Draco shrugged. "What happened was whatever usually happened. I was me and he was him. But I didn't know that he was who he was, so naturally, I acted like me."

"A dick?"

"Shut up, or I'll kill you."

"So, a dick."

"Fuck, _yes_ , fine. I was a dick. I thought he was some poor kid going into Hogwarts with the clothes that he wore. I was giving him a little taste of what purebloods were like." Draco tried to justify himself haughtily, but he knew that had he not acted like what he did, there was a strong possibility that he and Potter could have been friends. There was no shame in saying that his eleven year old self was an idiot. Everyone hated their eleven year old selves. "But no, he and his stupid righteous complex had to throw me in with the 'bad lot'."

Blaise simply snorted at the story, putting his hands behind his head and leaning on the couch, crossing his legs. "Wow. So, had you not been such an arse-" A fist found its way into his arm. "-you could have been the Chosen one's friend. You think you were the first student he met?"

Draco thought about that, wondering if he had been the first Hogwarts student Potter had met that day. "I don't know. Possibly. I don't remember much of what happened."

"You do know you're lucky that you're telling this to me and not someone like Pansy or Nott, correct?" Blaise turned his head to look at Draco seriously, and the blond gave him a look of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that I don't really give a rat's ass that you want to be Potter's friend. Course, it's kinda ironic, but whatever. Though it's our last year here so I'm not quite sure what you'll accomplish. But if you had been telling this to Pansy or Theo, they'd either skin you alive or shun you for weeks."

The blonde blinked owlishly for a moment, before calmly reaching over and grabbing Blaise's nose, yanking on it hard.

"OW! What the hell?! What the fuck was that for?!" came the cries of pain from the unsuspecting Slytherin, his hands thrown up to his nose, clutching it as if it might've fallen off. He sent Draco a withering look, rolling his eyes when Draco returned it with a heated death glare.

The blond himself crossed his arms and stared moodily out across the room. "For one, I do NOT want to be Potter's friend. So we had a _slightly_ civil conversation that dealt with the transaction of food. So what? That does not make me tolerate him any more than I already do. Or don't. Whatever. And two, don't you dare breath a word of this to Pansy or Nott!" Draco growled it out, making sure Blaise nodded his head in understanding. "They'll kill us."

"Us? Why am I being involved in this killing process when it was you who asked him for food?"

"Because if I'm dying by Pansy's hand then I sure as hell am bringing you down with me."

There was a pause. "Huh. Fair."

* * *

"Harry, really. What on earth does this say?" Hermione asked, holding up a piece of parchment that was a proud possession of Harry Potter himself. It was his Charms essay that he had finished _that_ _night_ even though it was due in the next _two_ days. Never shall one say that Harry Potter didn't at least try.

But said brunet shot Hermione a look, a frown gracing his face as he dropped himself on the chair next to her, from where he was standing with a proud stance. "What do you mean?" He asked. "I read the text and answered all the questions, I even verbally asked Ron and he said they sounded right!" he argued, trying to work towards the defense of his paper.

Hermione pursed her lips and held the paper out a bit more, narrowing her eyes in order to scrutinize it a bit more. "No, no, I don't doubt you this time." She said, knowing that if Harry was proud enough to present her a paper two days before due date, then it was probably legit. "It's your penmanship." She said, setting the paper down between them as if it were an explosive piece of paper. She glanced down at what she considered chicken scratch, then looked up at Harry who was peering at his own paper with a conflicted look.

"My writing. Handwriting?" He repeated, giving her an incredulous look. He reached out and grabbed his parchment, pulling it towards him so that he could get a clear view of it again. His eyes scanned the page and he picked out sentences, phrases, and paragraphs.

 _Several different of these charms are mostly seen in households. They are mainly used for domestic chores and help with the ease of_ _clening_ _cleaning. The_ inalbeo _charm is one that conjures up a…_

"My handwriting is fine! See, it says that several-"

"Harry, that's probably because you wrote it yourself so you're familiar with your own writing." Hermione said patiently, before plucking the sheet back from his hands and looking at it, before pointing at something on the page. "See? Your 'a' looks like an 'e' for some reason, your 'l' and 'i' look exactly the same since you don't dot them and they're the same height, and your 'g's look like an 's' and I don't even know how that's possible!"

Harry grumbled a bit and grabbed the paper back, not wanting to believe her for a second. He stared at his work, brows knitted and sighed when he threw the paper back onto the table. "Why are you grilling this on me now?" He huffed, crossing his arms and shooting her a look. "We're in our last year, surely all the professors are used to me having terrible handwriting." He pointed out.

Hermione frowned, picking up her wand and levitating over a new piece of parchment next to Harry's work from her bag. "That doesn't give you a reason to skive off of working on better penmanship. When you graduate and find a job, how are they going to read your papers? The professors are used to students with bad writing, but I'm sure that out in the real world, no one will have the patience to try and decipher what you consider as script."

"Now you're just being brutal…" the brunet grumbled, shifting in his seat to look at the two parchments before him. He poked at the empty one. "What's this for?"

"Rewrite everything."

An indignant shout left Harry's mouth as he jerked his head up to stare at his friend with a horrified expression while jumped away from the paper as if it burned him. "EVERYTHING?" he repeated, completely aghast. "Hermione, no!"

The girl simply shot him a no-joke look and nodded her head seriously. "Rewrite it. Everything. You have time, this paper isn't due until Friday anyways. Therefore, make it look better."

A groan left Harry's lips as he reluctantly grabbed both the sheets of paper, sticking his tongue out childishly at Hermione before getting up to head out of the common room. Like hell was he going to rewrite it in front of her, she'd probably critique every single letter who wrote along the way.

Half an hour later found Harry grueling in front of a parchment, trying his utmost best to rewrite the various paragraphs he had written initially. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and the quill was gripped so tightly in his hand that it threatened to snap. In fact, there were 2 other quills that were thrown carelessly to the other side of the table, quills that had met the terrible fate of being broken in half.

It was a tedious task, taking the time to spell out the words in his best writing yet. Harry wondered why he had actually bothered to do it. He knew that if he had simply rewritten it in a slightly neater way, showed it to Hermione and have her 'tsk' and say it's still not neat, he'd still be able to turn the paper in because he had _done_ it. And now he had done it twice. But Hermione's words stuck in his head and he wondered if it were true. No matter what he wanted to be, no doubt that the people hiring him would want to look over this paperwork, and if they couldn't read any of it, then, well, they couldn't hire him, could they? So as usual, Hermione was right.

"Hey, Harry!" came a familiar voice, and Harry was jerked out of his concentration to look up at a sandy haired boy with a heavy Irish accent.

"Seamus," Harry said, grinning in greeting as he released his quill and turned to face his friend who was already making himself comfortable on the chair next to him. "How's it going?"

Opening up his book bag in order to pull out a couple of textbooks and parchment rolls, Seamus smiled. "It's going alright, just gotta finish a Herbology essay and turn it in before the weekend."

Harry blinked, confusion evident in his voice. He and Seamus were in the same Herbology class. "Herbology?" He repeated. "We have an essay due?" He asked warily.

"Nope!" replied Seamus cheerfully, pulling out a parchment that was half-full with lazy looking scribbled words. "This was due last week. I just never got around to actually doing it." At the easy words of his friends, Harry couldn't help but laugh and shake his head, amused by how irresponsible his friend was.

"Well, good luck with that." He said good-naturedly, turning back to his own parchment. After a couple more hard-written words, he felt a presence over his shoulder and he looked up to see Seamus staring at his work in interest. "Need something?" he asked curiously, watching the Irish boy blink a bit and back up.

"Nah, just wondering what you're doing. Why are you rewriting a whole essay?" Seamus looked at him with genuine confusion as Harry chuckled sheepishly. There was no doubt that his friends knew just how much he hated work as the next person, so it was not surprisingly that Seamus was confused as to why Harry was doing double work.

"Oh," he replied, gesturing at his parchment with his quill. "I wrote an essay, and had Hermione check it over. But she started ranting about my writing so she's making me rewrite it neater." Harry sighed, scratching the back of his neck with his quill absently before swearing when he realized that he just scribbled black ink all over the back of his neck. He smiled warily as Seamus simply laughed and waved his wand to spell the ink away.

"That's some rotten luck, but it was bound to happen sometime." Said Seamus, grinning at Harry and shrugging.

The brunet blinked, before narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean, bound to happen?"

Seamus rolled his eyes, gesturing towards the two versions of essay Harry had before him. "That. To be honest, Harry, your handwriting is shit. But no one ever tells you because they think you'll go off on them. Hermione though, it's a right wonder that she's been able to hold off this long. Maybe because it's your last year. Well, either way, we all figured that sooner or later she'd tell you off." The other boy spoke as if it were school-wide knowledge that Harry had terrible handwriting. Well, maybe it was.

Feeling a bit hurt at that, Harry frowned and stared at the two papers before him. With Hermione saying it, no, he didn't take the words too much at heart. But when another person backed her up, Harry realized that maybe it really was an issue. "Seriously?" was his only reply.

Nodding, Seamus shifted on his chair and sprawled his arms backwards. "Yep, sorry mate, but I honestly can't read a thing you write."

Sighing in exasperation, Harry nodded and tossed his quill off to the side, figuring that he'd have to restart the essay for a third time since this second redo was not even an attempt at neatness, simply just an appease to Hermione. "Right, well, that's good to know finally." He said sarcastically, leaning back in the chair to mirror Seamus' position. The other boy winced at the words.

"Sorry." He said again.

"No, it's fine." Harry replied. "It's better I know now." Peering at his papers, he made a face. "Well…what am I supposed to do about it? I don't want to rewrite essays over and over again." At the thought of rewriting all of his homework to the point of neatness nearly made him throw up. Seamus could clearly see the panic in his face and he straightened up quickly, waving his hand.

"No!" The other boy exclaimed, then quieted down. "No, even I'd die if I was forced to do that. Maybe…uh, what's that thing that people do when they write whatever's on their mind down?"

Harry blanched. "A diary?" he said dubiously. "Isn't that…what girls write?"

Seamus pursed his lips at that, nodding as he thought about it. "Hm. You're right. Yeah, I've seen Parvati talk to Alecia about hers, I think that's where I got it."

"I don't want to write a diary." Harry said firmly, shaking his head. He had one bad run in with a diary as a second year, and that time it had almost killed him. Harry shuddered at the thought of writing in _another_ diary, regardless whether or not it would reply back to him.

Seamus snickered, shaking his head. "You don't have to mate, let's scratch that off the list. But imagine!" Seamus splayed out his hands before him, grinning madly. "Harry Potter: A memoir! You could be famous!"

The sentence caused for the two of them to stare at each other for a moment, before Seamus flushed and Harry snorted, shaking his head in soft laughter. "I think I've unfortunately got the 'famous' bit covered, Seamus." He said in amusement, watching as Seamus grumbled and waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, I know. You get my point though, right?"

"I'm not writing a diary _or_ my memoirs, Seamus."

The redhead nodded and sighed, slouching and leaning back into his chair, crossing his arms. Harry mimicked his position so that the two were sitting side by side in the same fashion. Madame Pince swept by them, arms laden in books, and glanced at the two eighth years lounging about lazily with their homework in front of them, but hands unmoving. With a disapproving sniff, she continued to walk.

"Um, how about…a journal?" Seamus suggested next, eyes flicking around the library, trying to think up random ideas.

"Isn't that basically like a diary?" Harry asked, raising a brow and turning his head to look at Seamus who looked a bit conflicted.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Seamus gave him a one shouldered shrug. "Well, yes. But if diaries are for girls, maybe journals are for blokes, you know? Basically the same thing but minus the whole 'dear diary this' and 'dear diary that'. It has a much more masculine appeal. It's also a much more general term so instead of writing only your deepest, darkest things, you can just write about anything in a journal. Make sense?"

Harry stayed silent and stared at his friend, scrutinizing the Irishman and his sudden defense in regards to journals. A faint grin slid onto his face as he reached over to poke Seamus with a finger. "You have a journal, don't you?"

Whipping his head to stare at Harry in horror, Seamus' ears flushed as red as his hair as he let out a small choking sound. "Shit no, I mean, well, journals really _are_ gender neutral-"

Laughing, Harry shrugged. "Relax. Good for you." A light smile played on his lips and his eyes glinted playfully. "Journals do seem gender neutral. Much better than diaries." He said firmly, smiling when Seamus looked relieved and nodded.

"Yeah, they really are. When I write-" he shot Harry a defensive look. "I don't write in it _religiously_ or anything, just when…something pops into my mind…and I want to write it down…" He trailed off, staring at Harry.

The brunet simply smiled and shrugged. "Sure."

Seamus nodded, back on track. "Right, well, anyways. Maybe you could write a journal?"

Harry shook his head, straightening back up and grabbing his quill, only to twirl it around lazily in his fingers. "No, I'm not really interested in the whole 'write down things that happen in my life or that come to mind' kind of antic." He said, shooting Seamus a glance. "No offense."

"None taken," Seamus said with a shrug. "Hmm…"

Harry turned his head away to stare out the large windows that lined the walls across the library, allowing light to flow in unhindered. A small tawny owl flew past holding a letter in its talons, no doubt eager to deliver. Without thinking, Harry spoke. "Letters." He said.

"Huh?"

Harry turned back to him, a slightly wary look in his eyes due to the fact that he was suggesting something. "I could write letters."

The redhead straightened up this time, folding his arms on the table and looking at Harry with a curious expression. "Letters?" He repeated, and Harry nodded. Seamus though it over and gave him a nod and a shrug. "Sure, why not. Letters are fine. As long as you have the commitment to write them often enough that it'll help fix your writing." He shifted a bit in his seat, adjusting so that his cheek rested on his propped up palm. "Who are you going to write to, though?"

The question left Harry slightly stumped. That was a good question. He'd write letters, sure. And the commitment part wasn't too hard. Knowing that they were going to be read by someone gave writing letters a sort of hype. But to _who_ was the question. It couldn't just be to anyone. Because if he wrote letters, he expected them to be read. Not just glanced at and discarded. Letters, despite the range of formality, were usually personal to an extent. He didn't want his letters glanced over.

He highly doubted that Ron would take the time to sit down and read his letters, and Hermione was out of the question. Harry didn't want her knowing that he was writing in order to fix his handwriting. Seamus was…well, he just didn't feel like sending Seamus any letters. Neville might read them, but for some reason, the thought of sending letters to his close friends about whatever came into his mind seemed kind of off. He could always just tell them whatever. What was the point in writing? Therefore, he should find someone not too close but at the same time would genuinely read his letters.

"Harry?" Came Seamus' voice, pulling the brunet out of his thoughts. He realized he hadn't replied. "Who are you going to write to?"

"Good question." Harry said, twirling the quill once more, but twisting his fingers wrong so that the feather fell out of his hands and onto the table. "I'll try and find someone who'll put up with my ramblings on parchment. Maybe someone from a different house to avoid people trying to read things in the common room."

Seamus was slightly surprised that Harry wasn't going to go straight to sending the letters to gryffindors, but he nodded, understanding. "Sure." He chirped. "I'd give you suggestions but I really don't talk to most of the other people in other houses." He said sheepishly, knowing the late Dumbledore would probably tsk at the sound of no 'inter-house unity'.

Harry shrugged, picking up his quill with resolution. "That's fine, I'll find someone." He said again. Seamus nodded and both boys simultaneously felt as if it were the end of the conversation. They picked up their quills and went back to their homework, Seamus grinding away and his week-late essay, and Harry absently copying letters down. His mind was running though. The idea of writing letters was exciting. If he found someone to write to, it would be surprisingly pleasant if they helped out and wrote back. If not, that was fine too.

Either way, he had to find himself an in-school pen pal.

* * *

That evening at dinner, letters were the only thing on Harry's mind. He never really wrote many letters before, seeing as when he was with the Dursley's, they hated even the concept of Hedwig just flying around. And even when he did, it would take a long time for either Ron or Hermione to respond. But with an in-school letter pal, he could just hand over the letter, or have his new barn owl Artemis fly it over. And he didn't have to wait for a reply since he set himself for allowing that if the other person didn't want to write back, they didn't have to.

Speaking of which, Harry was still in search of the perfect pen pal.

"So Harry, did you rewrite the essay?" Asked Hermione, who was spooning soup into her mouth and looking at him expectantly. At her side, her boyfriend Ron stared at her, aghast, mouth hanging open as the spoon stilled.

"Rewrite?" the ginger repeated, swallowing quickly and glancing between the two of them. "Hermione, you had Harry _rewrite_ a whole entire essay?!"

Hermione pursed her lips a bit and sent him a withering look. "In case you haven't noticed, Ron, but your best friend here has the world's most terrible handwriting ("Thanks Hermione.") and I made him rewrite the essay because it was literally impossible to read!"

Ron frowned a bit, glancing at Harry. "His handwriting isn't _that_ bad…" he defended, Harry giving him a small smile of thanks.

The girl tutted though, shaking her head. "That's only because you're so used to copying off of each other for work that you could probably read anything badly written. I'm simply trying to get Harry to work on his penmanship." She looked at Harry while Ron grunted and turned back to his soup. "So, did you?"

Nodding, Harry gestured towards his bag which was on the ground near his feet. "Yeah," he said. "I'll show you in the common room."

Hermione lit up and she nodded happily at the idea of looking over work. "Splendid." She said, before taking another sip of the soup and turning the conversation into something vaguely quidditch-related in order to get Ron's attention off of his food and at her. As the couple conversed, Harry's mind flitted back to the finding himself a letter partner, and he glanced around the hall.

His gaze landed first on the Ravenclaw table that was right next to theirs, and his eyes scanned the people. He wasn't really keen on sending a letter to anyone not of his year, minus a few others, so that meant he was searching for eighth years and the occasionally seventh. Luna was the first one that caught his gaze, and she smiled, waving happily at him. He gave her a smile back and wondered if he could write to her. She wasn't ridiculously close of a friend but she was also close enough. She would no doubt read his letters. But there was also no question that Luna would write back. And her content might be a tad too out of reach for Harry's mental mind. Luna was great, but he didn't think sitting down and writing a letter to the ravenclaw girl was huge motivation.

His eyes then roved over to the Hufflepuff table, seeking out anyone he knew. There was Zacharias Smith, but he was obviously off the table. Not that Harry minded writing to a boy. He didn't. Smith just put Harry off somehow. He looked around the table and saw no one else that sparked interest.

Lastly, Harry chanced the Slytherin table, already concluding that there was no one he'd want to even remotely involve himself with there. But the first thing that caught his eye was a flash of stark blond hair. Malfoy. Suddenly, memories of the night a few days back came into his head. When Malfoy and Blaise suddenly showed up in the great hall. When the blond didn't bother to get him in trouble. When he had _civilly asked_ Harry for food. The brunet found himself staring at Malfoy who was deep in conversation with Blaise next to him. He frowned slightly. The slytherin didn't _look_ any less dick-ish than the past years, but he knew that somehow, the boy had changed. Well. Of course. They went through a war. But still. In regards to him in particular, Malfoy was kind of…different?

Immediately, the thought flashed into his head. _'I can write to Malfoy.'_ The reasons began to flow. _'Then the letters don't have to be ridiculously personal. I can write about whatever. Maybe even a snide comment here or there. He wouldn't have to respond. No doubt he'd read them because he'd want to know what I'd say to him, insults and all. He wouldn't critique like Hermione, he wouldn't care. Well, maybe he would, but that's beside the point. The letters won't need to be long. Maybe I can write to Malfoy.'_

Harry figured that all of his reasons were probably extremely pathetic, and that a better bet would be to just write to Luna and deal with whatever letters she sent back. But he didn't deny that part of him was extremely curious about this new side of Draco. This new politely-talking-to-Harry side. And if the blond really was nicer now, then maybe, just maybe, he'll agree to receiving letters from Harry. Well, he wouldn't really _need_ to accept. Harry could send them regardless and make Draco deal with unwanted letters and owls…But it was polite to have at least consent.

Making up his mind, he dropped his head back down to attack his chicken leg, biting into it so quickly that Hermione and Ron blinked and looked at Harry's sudden movement before slowly returning to their conversation. He'd send Malfoy a letter. Who knew? Maybe he'd get something out of it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hello! I do hope you enjoyed this so far. It's a bit shorter than usual, but you know the whole deal, 'chapters get longer over time'.

:) Glenn Agape


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